I'll Look After You
by Not An Infant
Summary: Just one day, and that would have to be enough.....read and reviews


**Title: I'll Look After You**

**Author: Not An Infant**

**Rating: K+**

**Disclaimer: I've locked Seely Booth in my basement. What? Why don't you believe me? Oh, that's right, because I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS.**

**A/N: This is a dream. WORD FOR WORD. Forgive me if you don't understand. I've figured out (kind of) what might have happened before the dream took place… in a completely AU, Sweets, Bones, and Booth are in that diner they always go to for this week's therapy session. In the middle of arguing, Sweets finally interrupts with a speech about them being in love with each other and holding back for all different reasons. He then tells them that if they were to be together, then they could not work anymore. Sweets stalks out of the diner…and this is where my dream starts. **

She sits hunched over the black square table, her wounded eyes following Sweets out of the front door, her small fist clenched so tight it accents every bony knuckle, supported by the small shadows that the formation makes. She contorts her chiseled face into humiliation and fear. She keeps her eyes downward at her lap, her mouth forming silent words he can't read. He continues to stare at her, just stare at her, until he can no longer take the silence.

"Hey," he whispers softly. She doesn't answer; her eyes well up and her lips tremble violently.

He tries again. "Bones…"

She lets out a petrified whimper, her auburn hair shimmering softly around her. Never has she been this vulnerable, this speechless, since she was a little girl. Funny, how today, her need to quickly put her walls around her aching heart goes completely unnoticed.

Finally, he stretches his arm and clasps his warm, rough hand over her fist—a perfect fit.

"Look at me."

She had already looked up before he requested it. Maybe it is the comfort of his body warmth, melting the icy feeling in her chest. Maybe she is moved by the strange familiarity of his hand being where it is. Like the cup of his hand and the ball of her fist is a heaven made match. Paper covers rock.

"Look at me." _I am. I always have. Have you seen me?_

"It's me," he says. "I'm Booth."

She understands the meaning.

He uses his other hand, hesitant, and places his thumb on her cheek. His eyes settle on his hand as his thumb lightly rubs her high cheekbone, his brow furrowed, like he is seeing it for the first time. And she stares at his faces, at his eyes on her cheek, and when he looks back at her (all of her) he sees her expression of resignation, hopeless, reckless resignation. The rims of her eyes match the color of roses.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

_I know, _she wanted to cry, _and I'm sorry for looking like I thought you ever would._

But she cannot say that out loud. So instead, he stands up, takes her fist-turned-hand in his. It's been clenched into a fist for so long that blood takes a second to seep back into the pale skin. She stands up too, uncertainly at first, keeping her head down, so ashamed at her inability to put up the "a-okay" front sooner, before he realized that everything Sweets had said was true. At least, about _her._

They silently throw a ten-dollar bill each on the table and walk out of the diner with the sober air of a guest at a funeral. But _he _holds his solemn head high, while _she _hides her face behind her hair, her eyes darting nervously at the people around her.

No one notices them. Nobody cares. Except him.

An inner part of her smiles; the one who doesn't care really care what everyone else thinks _somehow _seems to care about her. Cool. Now if she can only let him do that the way she wants him to.

"Wait until we're alone," he mumbles without moving his lips. She squeezes his hand in response. He lets the shadow of a smile pass his thin lips for one fleeting moment.

They stroll carefully down a sloping sidewalk covered in red-yellow-brown leaves, down to where his favorite is, to think. He hopes it's not occupied or accompanied by anyone. He feels the moisture collect from her hand, still squeezing his, making it rather warm, which is not a felony in the fall. He knows how scared she is, even if she tries not to show it. He's seen this side of her rarely before. But he? He has nothing to hide. Sweets had merely voiced what he should have said long ago, but never did because he was a coward. But finally, now, the weight is off his chest. He has nothing to fear.

They reach the bench. It sits on one side of a long road for joggers and bikers, facing the metallic ocean separating them from the other side. He sits down fast, and watches her sit down slowly, his eyes betraying his render concern for her. And still, she can't look at him. Her back slouched, she sits with her legs only joined at the knee, and her shins casually plopped apart. He takes matters into his own hands; he takes her narrows shoulder with a gentle firmness that forces her to allow herself to turn to look at him. But before he can open his mouth—

"I'm sorry," she says.

"For what?" he is completely thrown off by this bewildering apology.

"For not—telling you, for not sharing with you the most essential secret of my life at this point."

He sighs; vulnerable or not, she's still the same clueless genius he's worked with for so long now. "Bones, that's exactly what I did, too."

She shakes her head. "But that's different. I am always the one to try and solve problem that comes in especially when that problem begins to metaphorically infect my daily routine, casually, formally, mentally, physically—"

"Okay! I get it!" he interjects with enough playfulness to keep from offending her. This is not the time for her to demonstrate her knack of babbling into Twilight.

"And now," she continues (as though no one has interrupted) "said problem has been hashed out into the open, and not by me, but by an all-seeing psychologist who doesn't even know me like…you do."

Silence. He stared at her frustrated, beautiful face. He takes a minute to realize that people can hold more than one emotion or thought or burden at a time. They can also hold it in for as long as they can, physically, mentally, or emotionally. Sometimes however, it takes one more little TICK for them to explode. And right now, she's exploding…

"Wait a minute—this is a _problem?" _he asks, realizing what she had been calling this…_thing._

"Yes!" she insists. "You think it's not a _problem, _harboring overwhelming irrational affections for an FBI agent with an ex-girlfriend at work who I'll always have to compete with because she's so much—_better _than me? Do you have any idea what that's like, Booth?"

_Oh boy._

"Bones, please! Listen to _me _for a moment. Okay?" She falls silent, shocked at the sickening obscenities that she had let loose from her lips. And they were all wrongful. What was worse, they were all true.

"First off, I want to promise you that anything I had with Camille, it's over now. It's been over. And it _was _my decision, remember?"

She cannot stop the quick exhalation of relieved breath even if she wanted to. But her inner fears rear yellow-eyed heads, crushing her momentary calm.

"Secondly, our relationship was completely physical. What you and I have is based entirely on feeling and understanding, and _friendship. _That's the key word here."

"Keyword?" she interrupts, confused. "To what file?"

Booth's mouth drops, utterly nonplussed. "What-what-" realization dawns on his face.

"No, Bones." _Jesus. _"I mean—" _Damn... now I have to figure out a better way to phrase this… _"—That concept. Friendship. That's what separates you and me from Camille and me. We have that. Not her."

She cocks her head to the side, finally getting it.

His hand slowly slides from her shoulder and situates itself on her neck, while his thumb rubs the trace of her jaw.

"It's not a case of who's better…but of who I fell in love with. That's _you._"

She suddenly snaps her neck back up, shaking her head, shivering away from his touch.

"She's physically attractive, and confidant of it. I'm not. She can compartmentalize when it comes to work and still be comfortable to be around. I can't. She—"

She shakes violently and is, for a moment (or so it seems), rendered speechless. Booth's innocently gorgeous features now show pain and confusion. How can she not see the beautiful goddess of mystery she was always destined to be? What is holding her back from that simple epiphany?

"She…does not have any difficulty in communicating emotionally with other people like I do. I can't even interrogate suspects because they can read my discomfort! She's _normal _in this society. I'm not."

The tears force their way out of her sapphire eyes. He has never known until now insecure she is, so riddled by self-doubt. He scoots closer to her, and once again, he gently forces her forehead against his. She first tries to turn away, but it's _him, _so she just breaths raggedly, waiting for the verdict.

"I see everything in you that I never saw or see in Camille or _anyone _else." The sqaure of his jaw intensifies with determination; she can see it in the tightened muscles.

"You are _my _Bones."

That sounds nice to her.

"MY Bones. And I want everything about you, and I'm happy that you're not normal. You're _better _than that."

She has calmed down now. He pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Do you understand, Bones?" She nods, taking a shuddering breath. He lets go of her face reluctantly. One more thing he has to clear up, before they can make a real decision together, like adults.

"And what does my job as an FBI agent have to do with anything?"

"Oh, come on, Booth!" she scoffs feebly. "Did you not see how Sully and I deteriorated right before your eyes?"

"I thought you broke up with him because you didn't love him," he frowns. _Of all the times to bring up that __**wiener**__…._

"That was the main leading factor, yes, but my job, Booth. It got in the way! I'm out in the field, and therefore my life is at risk every time I walk out the door with information that will put another man in jail. Why bring Sully into that, as well? Someone could use you and me to their advantage."

Booth wants to play dumb to buy himself more time before letting the weight of the truth crush his hopes. But he stays silent instead.

"An enemy could take me, knowing you'd find me. They could lure you their and kill us both."

His blood boils at the thought of someone tying her up again. A discomposing image of her hands tied together, handing from a metal hook, a black gag catching whatever blood ran down her cheeks---it flashes across his mind. A haunting dream. A sharp-edged warning.

His skin freezes when the image of her cold, lifeless face staring back up at him, devoid of any blood circulation, her lips half-opened, like she wanted to say one last thing—

And he can see it from her side now; just a little bit. He had seen how his fling with Cam had come back to haunt them both through Howard Epps's reign of terror.

But now that he is here with the better woman, the best woman ever, he feels thankful against his will that he and Cam did not give it another try. Some part of him knows that even if he had dated Halle Berry, he would have lost his heart to his stubborn partner.

And then he finds a hole in her theory of why they cannot be.

"Bones…" he laughs ruefully. "Did you not notice how I ran my ass off to save dig you and you alone out of the trap you and Hodgins were in? How I stepped in front of a bullet to keep Pam from killing you? I did all those things because I'm already afraid of someone killing you."

"Booth, I've been your _partner!" _She whimpers. "And only that for such a long time…"

"I would go to hell and back to look for Hodgins, or Angels, or Camille. There is only one other person besides parker who I would go to hell forever _for…_and she's sitting right in front of me right now."

_Dammit, _she involuntarily curses in her brain. His smugly stern face waits for her to reply.

"That would be a waste of time," she finally comes out with. "Seeing as there is no hell, metaphoric or otherwise—"

"Bones." His voice is as hard as stainless steel. "Stop it."

"Well, for Goodness's sake, Booth!" she can't stop the outburst. "To hell with all the metaphoric sayings, there _is _literally no life for me without you!"

_There. I said it._

_Oh shit. I said it._

A flinch that she can't analyze sets his features aflame. For a second there, it looks like he is about to cry. The flinch causes her to spill hot tears now.

And then, just as quickly as her tears fall, the strong, protective Booth is back with her, leaning in so she can feel his sweet spring breath on her nose.

"That's my point," he says softly, hypnotizing her with his piercing eyes.

"We're already in too deep for that excuse anymore."

For a few seconds, time stands still for him in her silence.

Together, they remember…

The first time they met. So irritating…so valuable.

The street fight he somehow won…that intimate embrace of sweat and blood…

The puddle of blood in her apartment…trying to calm her down…_you'll be okay…_

The kiss under the mistletoe…too many steamboats to care…

The request for a baby…how close they were to get to that point….

The moment of confusion after the surgery…why_ aren't you my wife anymore…_

His thoughts are exploded by a pair of smooth, salted lips pressing firmly against his own.

Without thinking anymore, he cups her delicate face in his hands and pulls her closer. He wants to taste all of her, touch all of her…hell he wants to _be _all of her.

His warm hands warm her skin again, in the midst of the bitter autumn wind. She can't think, but something flies in her consciousness and tells her that this is where she is supposed to be…this is what makes love so beautifully frightening…not having any control over your feelings, your physical reactions…depending solely on the one person who is melting your fiery walls into lava.

It is she who breaks the kiss. They breathe quick and deep, almost out of breath.

"This is going to be so difficult, Booth," she stutters hopelessly. "There's going to be so many people who won't want us to be together, there's going to be someone who's going to come after us, there's going to be people trying to stop us from working together—"

His soft fingers rest on her open bottom lip.

"Let's pretend," he suggests lightly. "That today, I'm Seely and you're Temperance and we're in love and nobody knows our name."

She cannot deny that she is seduced by the fantasy, especially when issued from him, him with his chocolate wood eyes killing her softly with his gaze.

She no longer has the energy to say no.

"But tomorrow…." She mumbles, dropping her forehead to his again.

"Tomorrow…" he echoes, pulling her against his chest, where she snuggles into the crook of his neck, lightly stroking his chest with her slender fingers.

"Tomorrow I'll be Booth and you'll be Bones and life will be difficult, but we'll be in love anyway."

He smiles sheepishly at her. She kisses him in response, and settles back into his chest, flying high of the sweet drugging sensation his mouth seems to cause her.

Just one day…and that will be enough.

There is no other choice.

_And so boy rides by on his bicycle, a pizza on the backseat, he sees a man and a woman sitting together on the old green bench, surrounded by dry leaves, following him with their eyes. And he does not know their names._

~end~

**A/N: Guys, I'm telling you—every dream you have, write it down, embellish it as much as you can…and it will set you free. It may even bring you a couple stacks of moola, if you're lucky. ;) Reviews are to me as Bones are to Brennan.**


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